The Summer Neighbor
by 9E-tan
Summary: "They said he left a lasting impression for a young man around 25." Takara Koyama can guarantee that he was certainly such an individual- that strange, peculiar middle-schooler from ten summers ago.


**Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.**

Genre: Friendship/ Humor

A/N: A plot bunny attacked. I just thought KHR needed more stories of outsider perspectives. Please enjoy; comments would be nice.

**[Edit]** Just went over some typos and irregular structure. Thank you for all of those who favorited and alerted the one-shot; I would appreciate any feedback for improvement, though.

* * *

_The Summer Neighbor_

_._

_._

_._

She had a peculiar neighbor.

Really.

There were so many things strange that enveloped the very nature of the young boy's actions.

Unexplainable things.

Closing her eyes as she feels the breeze of the summer wind, she recalls the first time she met the strange boy.

* * *

_It was the summer. _

Just as her routinely based activities, Takara Ichinose was pinning her wet laundry on the stretch of wire that hung between the poles that divided the apartment suites. She was living in a small one-room flat, as she had just graduated from university and found a job as a journalist. It wasn't much, due to the high competition teeming within the company, but it was her first step to independence. Takara could not complain.

The rental apartment she was currently residing in was battered and old, with the current inhabitants composed of the following three categories: 1) single, elderly men or women who had claimed the spot as a convenient ways to distance themselves from the hectic life of the city, 2) foreign immigrants who needed a place to settle before attaining a stable enough job to move somewhere else, and 3) recently graduated university students who required a place to stay in their first steps towards independence.

Thus, it struck her as quite the surprise when she spotted a young teenager, perhaps around the age of 17, barge into the empty suite next to her, followed by the frantic and dismayed landlord. It was quite the strange sight, as the landlord was notorious for being distastefully rude and cold-hearted towards those who he deemed unworthy and dirt-poor, yet to see him tremble before a mere middle-schooler was a sight to behold.

Nevertheless, the idea of a rude boy with the possibility of an eighth-grader syndrome as her neighbor did not bode well for Takara. She was fond of normality, routine, peace, and avoiding as much conflict as possible.

Her spitfire passion had long gone to curb before her employers; that was what society had taught her to accept in order to be its functional, integrated member.

Finishing her laundry, she stepped back into her room, sliding the door closed behind her.

Thus marked the first time she saw the boy.

* * *

_The second time was a complete surprise. _

She still remembers the shock of discovering a limping, injured individual at 3:00am in the morning.

Originally, she was up late trying to finish her article before the dreaded deadline, sweating profusely from the radiating heat of the computer screen, combined with the overall humidity of the summer climate. Procrastination was intrinsically weaved into her daily lifestyle from her high school years- it seemed that the unfortunate habit continued into her adulthood.

What was she procrastinating to?

Watching horror anime up in the late night- which also led to nightmares and prevented her from sleeping-but that was besides the point.

Her hands were shaking from not only fatigue but the sensation that something might pop behind her, bloodied, moaning her name.

Coincidentally, her heart stopped for exactly five seconds when she did hear dragging footsteps and the heavy panting. In absolute silence, she could hear the slump of the body as it struggled to balance itself against the concrete wall.

Akin to the protagonists within all horror genres, Takara's curiosity won over as she opened the door by insignificantly small increments- and found to her surprise-

_The devil himself._

Laughing quietly to herself for the initial fear she harbored a propos to the Devil's Hour, she immediately raced to the kitchen to salvage her old first aid kit.

She would tell herself that there would be no more late night horror anime (but who was she kidding?).

Putting the first aid kit down onto the floor, Takara approached the wary teenager on the ground.

Takara snorts as she recalls this time to be their official meeting, cordially enough so that she did not call him as her nameless, dysfunctional neighbor inside her head (though she still does, out of habit, sometimes).

_Hibari Kyousuke. _

His school nametag was pinned on his torn blazer, from whence she learns his name. It was a pretty name, she remarked, but only to herself. Men immensely disliked being called pretty. It threw them into a hissy fit, and the boy before her seemed to be the type to throw plenty of hissy fits to go around.

She did not ask him anything (she already had her own responsibilities to shoulder) and he did not speak a word while she tended to his wounds. Moving before his unnerving stare had worked up a sweat, but Takara pushed it aside as the simmering summer heat.

The teenage boy did not show up late at night before her from then on; she noticed he took to scaling the walls or climbing up the poles near their balcony to return to his suite. Perhaps it was his own way to avoid giving her trouble, or prevent her from being involved with whatever school activities he was in. But Takara always made sure to have her first aid kit ready, just in case.

* * *

From strange, nameless neighbor, to a middle school student who often returned with battle scars, the young journalist began to compile information on the mysterious being known as Hibari Kyousuke.

Time revealed that the young boy lived strictly within structured rules. She probably had not even scratched the surface of his personality, given his mysterious demeanor and their limited, rare meetings, but this alone, she could tell without much effort.

Takara remembers she had the (delightful?) opportunity to witness one of the boy's principles on their third, 'significant' meeting.

_Hibari Kyousuke does not like to be in debt._

The young journalist was on her way from her last-minute shopping, buying half-priced, day-old bento (it was bad for her health, but she didn't have time to cook herself anything tomorrow).

The night streets were dangerous for women, thus Takara always carried around a pepper spray in her purse.

Or at least, she was one of the generally misled populace who believed in the urban legend that a mere pepper spray could defend her from countless predators.

Case taken, that on the way home, she was almost abruptly assaulted by another individual (the key word being- _almost_).

The loud grunt of pain and the crack of bones did not register until a few seconds later, when she quickly turned around to see the writhing form of a middle-aged man holding his hand in agony. It did not take long enough to register what could have happened; she still shivers from the possible event of murder or rape.

Black leather shoes blocked her sight of the man's face as it deliberately stepped over the man- she looked up slowly to find her gaze locked with her young neighbor. There was a myriad of emotions- gratitude, fear, shock- but before she could say anything, the young boy merely grunted and told her to respect curfew 'lest she be bitten to death'.

Too confused by the late night adventure, she dumbly nodded and walked back to her tiny apartment suite.

Now, she laughs to herself at the corny catchphrase that the teenager had come up with. Where he had picked that up, she had no clue; but he was a rather interesting fellow, who probably had an affinity for anime. Secretly. (Because he was probably too proud to admit it- closet otaku, she snorts.)

* * *

A few months passed, and there came a time when she no longer heard her neighbor arrive to his small room by unconventional means.

She was too busy with her job anyway, but on the occasion that her thoughts drifted back to the young boy living alone, she took it in herself to make a small bento for her neighbor.

Living alone, she had no idea how he was supporting himself, not that it was any of her concern.

Still, she was only being a friendly neighbor.

It was a rush of euphoria and excitement to find the necessary materials to make a children's specialty; beef hamburgers. She wasn't sure if he would be insulted by her choice, but she didn't really know what was popular amongst teenage boys (who came home looking like something the cat dragged in) and hoped for the universal appeal of meat to ring a bell in the young man. (Not to mention, she later found out his birthday was on May 5th- Children's day. Talk about coincidence).

Takara laughs now; she remembers that incident as it etched itself onto her memory- his sour expression as people crowded before his door, ooing and ahhing over the packaged bento on his doorstep (they were old people who lived vicariously through other people's love lives)- but unable to chase them away as they were the elderly.

Instead, he did what Takara Ichinose had officially dubbed as 'The Hibari' (A.K.A. The Hissy Tomcat).

He slammed the door in front of him and did not appear for the next few days.

The bento did, however, appear before Takara's doorstep the next day, empty, but with a plain piece of paper wedged on the lid-

_Do not attempt that ever again._

The bento was clean- dishwashed- out of common courtesy; clearly, her stubborn and enigmatic neighbor was a man of few to no words. But she knew, deep inside, he meant 'thank you'- just that his overblown teenage ego didn't let him speak the words out loud.

She had that time too, when she thought that she could rule the world- so she let it pass, and carried on with her own business.

* * *

Gradually, there grew a certain type of neutrality between the two beings known as Hibari Kyousuke and Takara Ichinose.

It was not really friendship, per se- their occasional meetings were too short for such a bond to form.

Although she did not know him well enough, her female intuition gave off an unconscious signal that Hibari just wasn't the type to make friends; he never brought company over, not even once, during her stay at the apartment.

Still, he acted cordially with a stiff bow of acknowledgement before the 23-year-old woman on the occasion that they did see each other (that was a lot of respect coming from the young boy, considering that the landlord now weeps in bed in fear of being beaten to death for demanding Hibari to pay his rent), and she gave him a bright smile before entering her suite.

And as usual (somehow, it made it into her daily routine) she made lunch for him to take to school, to find the bento box clean before her doorstep on the following day.

Though he never was an affectionate individual, Hibari Kyousuke was a man of principle; odd favours fell before her, like that time when a group of young men helped her move some furniture in her room without previous notice, or the landlord no longer pestering her about late fees. (That might have been the best blessing granted).

* * *

Now, present time Namimori, she no longer sees Hibari Kyousuke; they had parted ways since long ago. After her promotion to a well-respected journal editor, she moved to a small townhouse located near the university she graduated from. As for the boy, she only knows he moved out before she did, off to some other place to spend his youth (wisely, she hopes, out of maternal instinct).

It is the summer again, 10 years since she last saw his onyx eyes flash with irritation, or his battered, scarred face from some sort of struggle she knew naught of.

She misses the small bouts of adventure and excitement he brought to her dull, monotonous life- while she has a family now, some part of her misses that irrationality and charisma sported by such a young individual.

It is her writer's blood that sings; she knows it quite well.

It is the same blood that tells her it was fate and coincidence that she met her strange neighbor.

Fate.

She laughs at her wistful thinking as she continues to set the dinner table, but that does not stop her from wishing, just a tiny bit, that she would see how much he had grown.

Seeing her husband's car approach the driveway breaks her from her reverie; she welcomes him into her arms.

"How was work?" She asks, intrigued by the look of confusion on her husband's face.

"It was fine, but honey…" he trails off to reach inside his suitcase to draw an envelope. "Were you expecting a package?"

Takara raises her eyebrow as her husband continues, handing a light, but bulky, package into her outstretched hands. "The Post Office gave me this saying it was for you."

"Did they say who it was from?"

"They weren't able to ask."

Her brown eyebrows knit in puzzlement. "Now that's strange. Why would they not?"

Her husband merely shrugs, while giving butterfly kisses to his two little girls. "They said he left a lasting impression for a young man around 25." He scratches his head. "Though how he got our contact information, that worries me…"

Takara Koyama opens the package, and a small smile finds its way on her lips. "Don't worry about it, Daisuke. Probably some student I've taught in university."

Daisuke smiles with relief as he continues towards the dinner table, welcomed by the fragrant aroma of food. "You still make bento boxes for your students?" He tosses as he sits down on a chair.

Takara merely laughs, joining her family at the dinner table after setting the package on the kitchen counter.

And in some distant city in Japan, she hopes, he's still taking care of himself, that strange neighbor of hers ten summers ago.


End file.
